Fierce Pale Altogether
by skullcandy216
Summary: Becca Sweeney never wanted to move to America to live with her Dad. Leaving Ireland was the last thing she ever wanted to do. But sure, feck it. The sparkly fella might be fun. (AU-ish parody)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hallew! So. here's the story: I liked Twilight. Then I looked back on Twilight. I no longer like Twilight. But I still thought this'd be funny! **

**N****ote: this will be much funnier if you're Irish. May be slightly ofensive if you're from anywhere else.**

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><p><strong>SHAPTER WAN<strong>

My Mammy drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was fuckin' freezin' in Kerry, and the stink of silage made my eyes water as we drove past field after field of cow. I hadn't bothered changing out of my 'jammiesand the chill seeped easily through my cotton flannels. Wasn't expecting them to be thermal like. Fiver in Penny's. I was wearing them as an act of rebellion against against being dragged outta bed at twelve in the afternoon. My carry-on item was a kit bag from O'Niell's, minus the hurley.

In the up northy bit of Washington (state, not dead guy), a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. Which was _just fucking great_. Not like I was used to rain of anytin like. It was in this town that I'd been forced to fuck around in every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my Da, Charlie, came over to fuck around in Ireland with me, making uneducated comments about shit he didn't know shit about. I mean, fuckin' leave it, will ya?

It was to Forks that I had been banished to—an action that took my Ma all of six seconds to decide on. Sure, she was never around anyways since she got the boyfriend. Why'd she even care if I was downstairs while she was getting the shift?

I detested Forks. I detested Tralee too, but on a slightly lesser scale. I hated Tralee because it was full of rehabs and knackers. I hated Forks because it made me want to blow my brains out.

"Becca," my Ma said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "Change your fuckin' clothes."

My mom looks like me, except she's fat. I felt a spasm of pity as she pulled a pack of tobacco out of her trackie bottoms. How could I leave have been spawned from that useless pleb? Of course, she had Pairiac now, so the bills would probably never get paid again, because all the money would get spent on the piss, there would be no food in the fridge, no petrol in her car, and she'd probably be found dead in a slurry pit, but whatever…

"Get fucked Ma!" I screamed from the security check in line.

"Tell Charlie he owes me child support!."

"I will in my hole."

"Don't bother coming back any time soon," she insisted. "We're turning your room into a home gym, so you're just gonna be a hastle anyways." But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Like I'd wanna live in that shithole," I laughed. "I'm gone Ma. Won't be seein' me no time soon."

She gave me the finger, keeping it raised until I went through the metal detectors, bleeped, was given a pat down and taken in for questioning. Then, she was gone.

It's a four-hour wait to get my urine sample checked after the colonoscopy, a seven hour flight from Farranfore to New York, another three hours to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a bit weary of.

Charlie had really been fair decent about the whole thing. He seemed grant out with me shackin' up with him. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

I didn't wanna go to high school though. Full of Americans, so they are.

But it was sure to be pure awkward with Charlie. He was a stuck up prude and I have a problem with cops. I knew he was more than a little confused by my arrival—he sometimes tries to kid himself into thinking his baby Mammy isn't fucking mental.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I was so fuckin' pissed you wouldn't even imagine it like.

Charlie was waiting for me in his little squad car. I dunno if he had another car, and just chose to drive around with the siren on all the time. How small does your cock have to be to do some fucked up shit like that?

Charlie…I actually dunno his last name was the Sheriff in Forks.

At least I think they use a sheriff.

They probably use a sheriff.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I passed through baggage claim, and I had to resist the urge to knee him in the balls.

"It's good to see you, Becky," he said, smiling tightly, the way one would smile at an attacking pitbull "You haven't changed much. How's Ria?"

"Grand out sure, Chazzer." I refused to call him anything that wasn't demeaning to his face.

I had only a few bags. Most of clothes were shitty, so I'd figured I'd make Charlie take me shopping. Forks had a Penny's, right?

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were strapped in.

"What kinda car?" I was pure sketchy that he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where'd you find a heap a shit like that?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" I didn't know what the fuck a lapish was.

"Nah sure"

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted. No help. "He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't say nothin', "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"D'you really expect me to be seen in a fuckin' truck?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask. "Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "Get fucked?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Chuckie, get fucked. I'm not drivin' round in a feckin' hillbilly wagon."

"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore." Because it probably runs on fumes that kill fish.

"How cheap is cheap? D'you suck him off for it or something? Sure, would he even be able to feel it like?"

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression. Wow. Free. Go Daddykins.

"Cheers Charlikin. Might make up for living in this shithole."

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

He tried to talk about the weather, and I told him to shut the fuck up, and that was pretty much the end of our conversation.

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><p><strong>I regret nothing :3 Lemme know watcha think<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks so much for the great reception guys! I dunno if updates are actually gonna be daily ('cause I gots other shit to write) but I'm just super into this story right now so...who knows?**

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><p><strong>SHAPTER TEW<strong>

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought after he drunkenly knocked up my Ma all those years ago. I'd always known that my parents were never together. Charlie had just been dumped by his wife or something, and Ma was on her hen night.

There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab.

"What do you think?" Charlie asked hopefully.

"I think you're trying to buy my affection with a piece of shit truck."

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took two trips to get all my stuff upstairs because I made Charlie carry everything while I walked beside him and told him he couldn't decorate for shit. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born, and still stank of baby food and talcum powder somehow. The wooden floor full of knife holes, the light blue walls covered in crayon doodles of dicks, the peaked ceiling with that weird stain, the yellowed lace singed at the ends — these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew and trying a few times to fix the damages until he realised I didn't give a shit how much he spent on paint and varnish. The desk now held a second-hand computer that would probably be heavy enough to kill me if I dropped it on my head. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner, the one with the weird damp problem.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact. I didn't feel like seeing his wrinkly old man balls at eight in the morning, but it was probably gonna happen eventually.

One of the best things about Charlie is he pretty much does whatever I tell him if I scream it loud enough. When I told him to rev up and fuck off, he left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. She woulda boxed the head off me if I called her a dildo. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; not that I'd tried to do either, but at least now I could hang out the window and smoke a fag.

Forks High School had fuck-all students, which I was used to, I s'pose. All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the foreign lands. Not just the foreign lands, but the Paddy Lands.

The first person to make a Leprechaun joke was getting' stabbed.

I probably looked threatening enough not to be fucked with though. The bleach blond hair and copious amounts of spray tan complimented my many facial piercings well. Maybe, if I got a teardrop tattoo as well, I could work this to my advantage.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of make-up and tampons and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. I looked orange in the dingy bathroom light. I looked orange in most lighting, but that's what tanning beds were for like.

Facing my peachy reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. I wasn't gonna fit in with these freaks. Not just because they were American, but because the town was go goddamn small. They probably didn't even _have_ a local drug dealer.

All I knew for certain was this; tomorrow was gonna be complete shit.

I slept like a dead baby that night. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof was so familiar it put me right to sleep. Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the constipation creeping in on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a place where you couldn't see the sky. Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event, especially after I punched him in the kidney for calling rashers 'bacon'. He wished me good luck at school while he wriggled around on the floor. I kicked him.

Charlie left first, limping off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed, so I started etching male genitalia and swastikas into the tabletop with my butterknife.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. Which was totally tapped 'cause she is _mental_, in fairness.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. So I pocketed anything expensive I could find around Charlie's living room and headed into town to sell them.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and tossed it into the trees with a cackle. The sloshing of my Nikie's as I walked made my toes hurt, so I doubled back to steel a pair of Charlie's shoes. He has little woman feet.

I didn't feel like getting into the Hillbilly Wagon, so instead I thumbed it into Forks with some old guy who was probably a paedophile.

Finding the pawn shop wasn't difficult, and I felt good about myself knowing this was the right decision. Charlie didn't need an antique picture frame with some dead chick in it anyway.

Finding the school was a lot harder, considering I'd used the money to buy LSD off the very man I was selling to. I think that's called a catch 22. Once I made it past the flock of winged ninjas and the cobras stopped nipping at my elbows, the commute became easier.

The school was, like most other things, a total fuckin' shitbucket. It was obviedous that it was a school; the whole place glowed with depression. I swagged out in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. Stubbing out my cigarette in the middle of the first 'O', I made my way inside. I took a deep breath before opening the door, then dissolved into a coughing fit. Smoking since twelve will do that to ya. Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped, and smelled like the inside of a mental hospital. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet—both of which I would deface later—and notices and awards cluttering the walls. They were all for stupid things though. Humanities and drama and sports that Americans are best at because they invented them and they're played by no one else. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colour flyers taped to its front, advertising self help classes and something called 'Medi-Funk'.

There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a fat ginger. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which made her look like a bruised plum. The ginge looked up.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Becca Sweeney," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's traveller mistress, back to vandalise and harass old people.

"Of course," she said nervously. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me. She went through my classes for me, and I didn't listen to a word because there was shit in her teeth, and she had really big teeth, so I couldn't look anywhere else but directly at the shit. She smiled at me and I almost vomited into her mouth. I informed her kindly of the green thing lodged in her incisors just as the bell rang and students started milling into the halls. I'd arrived about three classes late, so I figured I'd prowl off into the car park for lunch. To my utter shock, most of the cars were even shittier then the Hillbilly Wagon.

At home I'd lived in a little shithole village with nothing to do and no one to do and it was generally boring as fuck unless someone was getting done for drugs somewhere. It was a common thing to see a beat up Ford or a Nissan with a random blue door on a red car because the original door got damaged beyond repair in a drunk driving accident. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out like a dead body in an orphanage.

I looked at the map the ginger had given me, trying to memorize it for all of seven seconds before my brain started to hurt; hopefully I would find a nerd I could bully into guiding me around.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers, so no one would notice I was stoned off my bollox on the first day. My luminous Adidas tracksuit didn't stand out too much, I thought.

I prowled around aimlessly until I realised it wasn't lunch and I was meant to be in geography now. After spending another twenty five minutes roaming, half-looking for my classroom. I found the class I had next and waited patiently for the period to end, so the new one would start ad I'd make a good impression by being the first into the class.

When the bell did ring and students milled out, I shouldered them out of the way—screaming abuse left right and centre—and into the room.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I snorted at then. They were two girls, one a freaky pale blond chick, the other a short albino. At least I wasn't the biggest headcase there. I sank into an empty desk at the back of the class and tried to take a nap, but the teacher kept droaning on about deads people I didn't give two fucks about.

When the class ended a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Rebecca Sweeney, aren't you?" He looked like a swat.

"Becca, you twat" I corrected venemously. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked. I didn't know, and I wouldn't tell him if I did. Overly nice people are always hiding shit. Like the fact that they're a serial killer or something.

"I dunno. French."

"Actually, you're in Government." He told me, pointing at my timetable.

"Government? That's not a fuckin' subject. That's a…thing. Why would you need a class on government? Are they tryin' o make us all into politicians? I can't do that shite anyways. I barely have a Visa."

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way. . . ." Are these retards deaf?. "I'm Eric," he added.

"I don't care."

"So, this is a lot different than Ireland, huh?" he asked.

"No shit Sherlock."

We walked back around the canteen in silence, to the south buildings by the P.E. hall. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked and I'd told him to fuck off multiple times.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful. I flipped him off.

The rest of the afternoon passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the gross-ass jumper he was assaulting my eyeballs with, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I swore, insulted multiple people without even trying, almost got into a fistfight with a short fella and kicked every bag along the walkway on my way back to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks until I threatened to rupture their tibia. One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch even though I tripped her many times in an attempt to lose her. She was tiny, with a weird-ass haircut that honestly kind of hurt my feelings. I couldn't remember her name, because I didn't try, so I scowled and hummed loudly as she prattled about teachers and classes. I sat at a table on my own, but she bodily forced me over to a table full of her friends. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them. They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

Because Holy Mary Mother of Fuck, were those fuckers pale.

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><p><strong>Hope you guys liked it. Maybe leave a review letting me know watcha think?<br>I regret nothing :3  
>TTFN<strong>


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